


What You Cannot Keep

by screamer



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamer/pseuds/screamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is eleven when he meets Jensen. He's fourteen when Jensen goes to prison. He's twenty six when they meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Cannot Keep

“The state calls Jared Wesson to the stand.”

Jared keeps his eyes lowered, the shapes and colors in his peripheral vision guiding him. Pens scratch and feet shuffle. Jared can feel the dead eyes of the cameras focused on him.

“Do you solemnly swear . . .” 

The toe of Jared’s sneaker catches on the last step to the stand, a short stumble, and the bailiff moves to help. 

Jared’s heart is pounding, each beat an earthquake in his chest. This is it, this is it, this is . . .

The first thing Jared sees when he turns toward the courtroom is the gold-green of Jensen’s bruised, bloodshot eyes, looking right back at him. 

 

**THREE YEARS AGO**

Willow Falls is in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave the day they meet. Through half-shut eyes, Jared watches the neighborhood slip past, lawns brittle yellow, almost white under the blinding sun. The voice on the car radio warns the elderly, young, and ill to stay indoors and reminding everyone to drink enough water and Jared’s mom switches it off to say, “Another pizza night.”

Jared turns away from the window. The damp skin of his neck sticks to the seat leather. He wonders, if he lay down on one of those shadeless lawns, how long it would take to die, all dry and curled up like a bug.

There’s a pickup truck in Jared’s driveway, parked politely to leave plenty of room when Jared’s mom pulls up alongside. The driver’s door opens, someone steps out, walks around the front of the pickup. 

Jared’s mom toggles down her window. “Are you early or am I late?”

The man shoves one hand in the front pocket of his ratty jeans, the muscles and tendons in his forearm jumping into new lines. That arm is tanned, the shoulder red with sunburn, the sleeves of the sweat-stained t-shirt ripped off.

“You’re right on time, Ms. Wesson. Five-thirty. Finished up my last job sooner ‘n I thought.”

“Right.” Jared’s mom puts the window up, reaches to hit the garage remote button. The man steps back. As the car rolls past, Jared hunches down, turns to get a look. 

The stubble on the man’s jaw makes him look old to Jared. The skin without beard shines glossy and smooth, golden tan. The man catches Jared staring and raises one hand, two fingers, in a lazy arc. The dark interior of the garage swallows the car; heatwaves bouncing off the driveway turn the man wavy, like he’s going up in flames. 

Jared turns facing forward. “Who’s that?” 

“His name’s Jensen. He’s here to work on the house.”


End file.
